


like we're gonna die young

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan forgets his birthday and feels old, and Ahsoka makes the most of the night. Post-ROTS, Tatooine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like we're gonna die young

**Author's Note:**

> So I'd wanted to write something with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka for a while, and this kind of ended up writing itself. Title taken from Ke$ha's _Die Young [Decontructed]_ , which is actually a really beautiful song and I think people should listen to it. This fic includes a nod to Citizenjess's and patientalien's head!canons that Ahsoka works with Ferus Olin and Roan Lands on Bellassa after she leaves the Order and I hope they don't mind me hinting at it! Also, this is Obi-Wan/Ahsoka. Ahsoka is well and truly an adult here, so if you don't like it, I ain't forcing you to read it.

Obi-Wan doesn't realise he's forty-two until three weeks after his birthday has been and gone.

It's not that he doesn't keep track of time – he does, meticulously – it's that he just… forgot. His own birthday has never been that important to him; ever since he was a teenager, all it meant was he'd made it another year without dying. Celebrations were few and far in between – Qui-Gon gave him a free night off to enjoy his eighteenth, Garen and Quinlan and Bant had thrown him a twenty-first… This particular birthday certainly isn't the first one he's completely forgotten and he doubts it will be last.

But it's the third time that Anakin hasn't been around to forcibly remind him of it.

Forty-two isn't old. Not _really_. On many planets, it's considered quite young still, but Obi-Wan has spent so much of his life trying to be older than his actual age, like growing a beard and having his hair turned grey by Anakin's antics and getting through the war one day at a time, and feeling so worn out and drained that he can't think of himself as anything but old now – old and damaged.

Most days he can hold it together well. Other days, like today, when he isn't communing with Qui-Gon or watching over Luke from afar, Obi-Wan – _Ben_ , he thinks, _it's Ben now_ – feels the empty weight of his despair hit him hard. And since alcohol is cheaper on Tatooine than water is, and probably an awful lot safer, he indulges. Just once in a while.

The liquor burns his throat when he knocks it back, and even though he's used to this drink it still makes him splutter and his eyes burn. The barmaid – pretty young thing, dark hair and dark skin and a smile that reminds Obi-Wan of different times – pours him another glass and asks what the occasion is.

"Oh, you know," he says, not yet slurring – he hasn't had nearly enough for that – "another year older."

_Is that a grey hair? Wrinkles, Master?_

_Put there by_ you _, my apprentice._

"Happy birthday," she replies, and Obi-Wan raises the glass to her. He feels her eyes on him he briefly contemplates talking to her some more, maybe see where it heads afterwards, but like so many of his relationships – close or otherwise – it will probably end in pain and tears as well so he just downs the drink and turns his attention away.

The trouble with attempting to drown his sorrows is that it dulls his senses, and he doesn't realise he's picking up a Force signature he hasn't felt in several years until she's standing right behind him.

"Master Obi-Wan?"

Her voice is soft and hoarse, disbelieving, and Obi-Wan freezes, throat tight with sudden emotion. He turns towards her oh so slightly because if he doesn't restrain himself, he's worried about what he _might_ to. Cry, maybe. He's in that kind of mood.

"Ben," he murmurs. "It's 'Ben' here."

She's not a girl anymore – she never really had been, he supposed, because she was a teenager of the war and had been on the cusp of womanhood when she left the Order. Her lekku is much longer now, following the curve of her body and reaching down to the middle of her body, and her montrals are tall and majestic (it makes her taller than him, now, but Anakin always used to tease that it wouldn't be difficult to be taller than him) – and her face that used to be round with youth is matured as well, with prominent cheekbones.

Her eyes are the same.

He wonders how different he looks. Probably just older. With more grey hair.

Ahsoka inclines her head subtly in understanding. "Katana Osho."

He has to smile at that. "Indeed." But then looking at her, here – sitting next to him, _grown_ and so very much _alive_ – he feels the too-familiar sting of tears in his eyes. "I thought you – after you left, I feared –"

"You, too." She reaches over to grasp his arm, not a firm grip and not so very intimate as to draw anyone's attention, but enough to convey her own relief and joy. "When I heard about… what happened, I thought you and Skyguy –"

Obi-Wan winces, and Ahsoka catches her breath.

"Oh. He's…"

Now he can hear the pain in her voice. Ahsoka, of all people, deserves to know the truth – deserves to know that Anakin is Darth Vader, that Anakin stormed the Temple and slaughtered the only family Obi-Wan had ever known, that Obi-Wan cut his best friend down and left him to burn on the fiery shores of Mustafar.

But Ahsoka thinks he died in Order 66. Perhaps it's kinder to let her. So Obi-Wan nods, and Ahoksa's hand on his arm tightens almost painfully before she draws back and presses her lips together.

"What are you doing on Tatooine?" Obi-Wan asks quietly, and she's happy to let him change the topic. There's so much to talk about – so much he wants to ask her – but they can't do it here, not in public.

"Business," says, and flags down the barmaid to order herself a drink. "I work on Bellassa for a small slicing company. Just picking up some cargo with someone, stopping for the night…" She smiles at him sadly. "Heck of a coincidence, running into you here."

_In my experience, there's no such thing as a coincidence – only the Force._

"What about you?"

"I live here."

She pulls a face at this – or perhaps it's because of her drink, no doubt bitter and burning. Obi-Wan glances around, quickly identifying the man Ahsoka is here with by the similarity of their clothes and the nod he makes in Ahsoka's direction before turning to do his own thing. He's young, good-looking fellow, tanned skin and dark hair, strong figure.

"Shame you're here with someone," Obi-Wan says before he can stop himself, and Ahsoka's eyes widen. "That is – to say –" he stammers, "– I only meant –"

Actually, he _doesn't_ know what he meant – just that he wanted Ahsoka to be here on her own because he wanted her company without feeling like he had to share, a rush of selfishness and sentiment he hadn't been able to clamp down on quickly enough.

Thankfully Ahsoka doesn't seem to pick up on this, because she snorts and shrugs. "I'm not, really. He's just here to give me a hand, and he's taking the night off." She inclines her head in the direction of her acquaintance, who in that short time has taken to grinding up against another young man in time with the music. It isn't the most erotic of tunes to dance to, Obi-Wan thinks, but he has trouble drawing his attention away from the gyrating hips, and the rush of warmth he feels just serves to remind him how damn long it's been and that he's really too old for this sort of thing now, for Force's sake –

"…so I guess he's probably going to stay here for the night and I'll make my way back to the shuttle –"

"Where are you stationed?"

"About three hours away – it was hard to dock into a port so we had to touch down in the outskirts –"

"There'll be a sandstorm coming," Obi-Wan interrupts again. "It's too dangerous for you to walk out to your ship now. You ought to find accommodations for the night."

"Where?" she asks dryly, glancing around this particular establishment. "Here?"

He sees her point. "Well." He clears his throat. "My… residence isn't too far out – not nearly as far out as your shuttle, anyway. My speeder is outside, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be," he says, perhaps a little too desperately.

She smirks a bit and he feels a pang of nostalgia. "Well, since my only other choices seem to be facing a sandstorm or this dreary place, I guess it's a no-brainer. Let me finish my drink, yeah?"

* * *

 

She _is_ taller than him, and it's not just because of her montrals. Walking to the speeder, Obi-Wan had felt almost intimidated by being ever-so-slightly below eye-level with his former Padawan's former Padawan. It's not that he's self-conscious, not really (all right, fine, maybe just a little); it's that it makes him acutely aware of how much time has passed them both by, how much history they share and how much they've missed.

Ahsoka slides onto the speeder bike behind him as he revs the ignition. Obi-Wan feels her hands come around his waist and settle there, her body pressing up close against his back, and he's reminded again that there's no doubt she is a woman now. He's immediately ashamed by this line of thought and hopes she doesn't realise his face is burning. "Hold tight," he murmurs, and Ahsoka wraps her arms around his chest as the drives off into the darkening Tatooine night.

Obi-Wan's home – well, hovel, really – isn't terribly far out, like he said. He makes good time, cutting through the desert with limited light as to not draw the attention of nomadic Tusken Raiders. He pretends to ignore the tickle of Ahsoka's breath on his neck, which should be barely noticeable from the rush of wind against them. It's fully dark when they arrive, the winds picking up now around them and the desert illuminated only by the light of the moon and stars. There are many things to dislike about Tatooine, but its night skies is not one of those things.

"Well," Obi-Wan says, turning off the speeder. Neither of them move yet, looking at the house, such as it is. "Here we are."

"It's… modest," Ahsoka allows, smiling wryly, and Obi-Wan coughs in embarrassment.

"I admit, it isn't much to look at, but it's… it's a home."

She shakes her head, muttering something about his monk-like tendencies, and he lets her stand up off the speeder before following to unlock the hovel and let her in.

Obi-Wan might live modestly – painfully modestly – but he does make use of electricity from time to time. It's a small place but there are places to sit comfortably, and he offers her a seat. "Tea?" he asks, and he's instantly reminded of one of the times he'd offered her tea at the Temple, waiting around in Anakin's quarters while he was off 'running an errand' but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka both knew perfectly well the only 'errand' he was 'running' was Padmé. They hadn't spoken an awful lot; just the general "You're looking well" and "How's Anakin treating you?" and mostly just laughing over Anakin's exploits and various antics, like that time he accidentally flushed his lightsaber down the toilet and blocked up the Temple's plumbing.

Ahsoka's slight smile, a nostalgic twist of her lips, tells him she's thinking the same. "Sure."

He boils the water, precious little as it is, and brews the tealeaves – not the blend he was so fond back _before_ , but a blend common to Tatooine. It's nice, if not as sweet as he would like it to be, but it's soothing and it's what he needs right now.

There's too much Obi-Wan wants to ask her, and he thinks she feels the same way. Too many memories.

They don't talk as he passes her a cup and joins her at the table. She nods in thanks and blows gently on her steaming tea to cool it, and Obi-Wan just keeps his hands wrapped around the ceramic as silence brews between them. Not real silence – the howling of a killer sand storm rages outside and the low hum of rarely-used electricity hangs in the air – but the unwillingness to speak stretches out painfully.

_What happened? How did you survive? How did Anakin die?_

Why didn't you ever contact me?

"What are you doing here, Obi-Wan?" she finally murmurs, breaking the silence. But it's a real question yet – just a contemplative, sad sigh.

He shakes his head, sets his cup of tea down on the table a little more aggressively than he'd been aiming for, and diverts: "You said you work on Bellassa for a slicing company."

She nods. "It's a good business."

Obi-Wan knows Ahsoka better than to think she means monetarily good. It's a _good_ business, which might also make it a slightly illegal business by Empire standards, and he has to smile – of course Ahsoka wouldn't stand idly by and watch injustice happen.

Ahsoka huffs unexpectedly and reaches over to grasp his arm again, the way she did in the bar. "You could… you could come with me, y'know," she says. "Tomorrow when I'm due to leave."

A pang of – dread? Longing? _Something_ – hits him hard. "Ahsoka…"

"Our meeting couldn't be a coincidence, Obi-Wan. Of all the places in the galaxy, of all the bars on Tatooine –" Her hand tightens and her eyes are bright with that fiery passion he so dearly remembers – life, at least, hasn't worn her down yet. She's still young in many ways; wise and mature beyond her years and carrying the scars of war, but _alive_ , and he lets himself believe just sitting opposite her makes him feel young again as well. "You could wear a disguise. Shave and get some… proper clothes, and I'll help you get documents –"

"Ahsoka, I – thank you, but no," Obi-Wan interrupts, stopping her before it can all get too tempting. "I can't."

She stares at him. "Come with me," she says again.

"No."

Ahsoka pulls her hand back now, the light in her eyes turning hard. "Why?" she demands. "What's keeping you here?"

Obi-Wan swallows. "I can't tell you."

She's better at hiding her emotions now than when she was Anakin's Padawan, but Obi-Wan can still sense that she's hurt by this. It's not that he doesn't trust her – he _wants_ to tell her, to spill the precious secret that he's guarding Anakin's son, and – and maybe ask _her_ to stay with _him_ and help, for Anakin's sake. For Obi-Wan's sake, because the days are so long and lonely and he doesn't have anyone other than Qui-Gon to talk to, but he could talk to _her_ –

But he can't.

Ahsoka frowns at him. "You can't tell me why you're holed up here hiding like a coward when other people are out there fighting?" she snaps, and he flinches. There's a sharp pause of silence and Ahsoka sighs, fire fading. "I'm sorry. That was nasty."

It was no less than what he has to stop himself from thinking every night. He keeps his eyes downcast. "I know it looks like I'm hiding, Ahsoka, but I'm not," he says quietly. "I have something very important I need to do here, and I cannot leave and I cannot tell you what it is. I'm… I'm sorry."

He expects her still to be frowning when he looks up and meets her gaze, but he's surprised at her sad smile. "You and your secrets," she says, and sips at her tea. "I'm gonna ask you again tomorrow."

Speaking of – it's very late now and she's probably tired. The whole point of inviting Ahsoka back here was so that she could get some decent, safe rest. He finishes his tea in a few fast gulps, as does she, and he takes their empty cups back to the sink as he talks. "I'm afraid there aren't many sleeping areas available. I'll be happy to take the couch, if you'd like the bed."

Ahsoka stands and faces him after glancing around the place again. "I'm not gonna force you out of your own bed, Obi-Wan. Is it big enough for two people?"

Absurdly, he finds himself blushing. "Well, I – I suppose so." He wouldn't know, really – it isn't as though he's shared it in the time he's been on Tatooine. There hadn't been anyone he wanted bring into the intimacy of his home.

Ahsoka either doesn't notice or doesn't care about his sudden awkwardness. "All right, then," she says easily, ending the inevitable _No-I-insist_ debate. At his alarmed expression, she shrugs. "Hey, we're both adults."

_Yes, I know._

He clears his throat. "Right. Well, then."

And now she's walking closer to him, and she grasps his hands – and he realises she's not holding back anymore. "I've missed you, Obi-Wan," Ahsoka says, voice tight and hoarse as though only restraining tears now.

He feels similarly choked.

"And I you, Ashoka. More than you can know." He sighs deeply now, eyes downcast again – the weight of an old guilt making his chest ache – and murmurs, "You know that the – the Council's decision to expel you was not unanimous. I – I should have tried harder to –"

Her arms come around him, unexpectedly, the warmth of her body close against his. He lets his arms come around her as well, holding her tightly back. He's careful of her lekku down her back, remembering how protective she was of them – "I hoped – I _knew_ you were the one to stand up for me," she whispers. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry," he says, and realises his cheeks are wet. Her hands stroke through his hair, comforting gestures urging him to just let go, and he clutches her closer to him, shaking against her.

"It's okay," she says.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan chokes again. Sorry for not saving Qui-Gon, sorry for failing Anakin, for Bail and Padmé and Satine and everyone else who has suffered because of him, sorry for failing _Ahsoka_ , and when her shoulders hitch he realises she's crying a little as well – and when she turns her head to press her lips to his damp cheek, and again at the corner of his mouth, he realises –

"Ahsoka –"

Her hand comes up to his other cheek, her thumb brushing the tears there, and she draws back. Obi-Wan sees her own eyes are wet but clear and her parted lips makes his head pound with a bizarre mixture of shame and need. "Why?" he hears himself ask, and her hand strokes the back of his neck.

"Why not?" she replies, smiling at him now and wiping her tears away. He tries to say her name again, because he's not _thinking_ straight, but she clearly is because she leans forward and captures his mouth with hers.

There's a lot of staggering involved on their way over to his bed, mostly on his part – Ahsoka is, as always, impossibly graceful and aware of their surroundings, and he doesn't miss the smirk of her lips against his mouth when she has to steady him more than once. Her mouth is warm and welcoming and her tongue unexpectedly talented, urging him to reciprocate without making it frantic or rushed.

Obi-Wan is not leading, but that doesn't mean he can't give back what she's giving him – not a distraction, not pity, but comfort and pleasure and a sense that he's wanted. He feels their legs bump against the edge of his bed – he really hopes it's big enough – and instead of immediately guiding her down onto the sheets he raises his hand to her cheek, skimming down her neck and curving his hand around her breasts, her long left headtail gently, grazing his fingers along it –

" _Oooh_ ," she moans suddenly, and he feels her shiver a little in his arms – not that he has much time to enjoy this, as she pushes him down onto the bed and urges him to remove his clothes.

_What are we doing?_ Obi-Wan thinks, head pounding.

"We're making the most of the night," Ahsoka murmurs against his mouth with a grin (damn, he'd spoken out loud), stripping her own clothes and making those intriguing moans when he dips his hands lower to explore her body, feeling her eagerness that matches his –

"Oh?" A quirk of his eyebrow, something he hasn't done in a long time –

The sandstorm rages outside and she takes him without fanfare, and it's the start of the end of his coherent thoughts. He lets her lead them to completion like it's the last night of his life.

* * *

 

He wakes up with Ahsoka in his arms, her long body sprawled across his and her hand caressing his hip. The howling sandstorm of the night has finally died down and the desert outside his protected hovel is silent. Obi-Wan shifts gently as to not jostle her – mostly because if she moves suddenly her montrals will take his eye out – and strokes her shoulder.

"Mmm," she mumbles against his chest, "morning."

He smiles easily. "Hello there, madam."

She laughs softly and sits up. "Who're you callin' 'madam', Kenobi?" She stretches, and he lets his hand trail down her back lekku, eliciting a slight shiver from her before she moves off him and collects her clothes.

There's still so much he wants to say, but not so much that they _need_ to say. Obi-Wan just watches silently as Ahsoka collect her clothes and dresses quickly, eyes lingering on the curve of her body, before doing the same. They don't meet each other's eyes, not out of shame but out of ease.

"It was your birthday three weeks ago," Ahsoka suddenly says.

Obi-Wan's hands still on his belt and he stares at her. "You remembered," he says faintly, and she shrugs.

"Of course I did."

He's not sure what to say to that at all, other than perhaps _thank you_ but that seems trite, especially after last night, so he pulls on the rest of his clothes and offers her breakfast, and lets her press her lips to his in a movement that is somehow something more than just a kiss.

"You could come with me," she tries, one last time.

_Or you could stay here and help me watch over Luke. Keep me company. Remind me of better days._

But that's selfish, because Ahsoka has her own life now – and if he goes with her he'll forsake Qui-Gon and abandon Luke and all he'll probably end up doing is ruining her life as well (maybe already has – he can't think of a single lover of his who's had a happy ending). So he shakes his head and she sighs and pulls him close for a hug, the heat of last night still warm between them. He holds her as well, allowing himself to relax and let go, vaguely contemplating how long it's been since he last felt this peaceful.

"C'mon, feed me then give me a lift back to my ship," Ahsoka says, and he will – soon. He wants to hold on to this moment a little longer.


End file.
